


Ease This Wild Mind

by martialartist816



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: ASMR, First Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Getting Together, Intercrural Sex, M/M, top!xz though they don't do the Full Deed, xz does asmr we love to see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24745456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martialartist816/pseuds/martialartist816
Summary: Yibo has never been one to try and explain with words what listening to ASMR feels like, but if he has to come up with something, “a thousand tiny spiritual orgasms at once” is the closest he can get.
Relationships: Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan
Comments: 45
Kudos: 331
Collections: BJYX Prompt Fest 2020





	Ease This Wild Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiahelix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [sophiahelix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix) in the [bjyx_fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjyx_fest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> With the mounting pressures of fame, WYB can only get to sleep at night now while watching ASMR videos. His favorite is someone who never shows his face, just his hands doing gentle things (cooking, puzzles, trimming hair), but WYB loves his soft whispers. He and XZ don’t get to hang too often these days, but when XZ casually mentions he’s been unwinding making anonymous “videos” online, while he’s cooking them dinner, YWB realizes the truth — and another truth after that. Now he has to confess not just that he’s XZ’s biggest fan, but that he feels something more...
> 
> Hi, sophiahelix! I got so excited to see this prompt because I also really love ASMR! I hope you like the fic!

All day long, Wang Yibo has been waiting for the moment he could shed his public persona like he sheds the designer clothes someone dressed him in and crawl into bed.

Technically, every day is like that. Nothing feels more satisfactory than the familiar give of his mattress under his exhausted body after a long day of tailored smiles and marketable words spoken to an unfeeling camera. Today is all that, and then some, because in the middle of taping an ad for Home Facial Pro, his phone pinged with a notification that his favorite ASMRtist just uploaded a new video.

A restful night’s sleep is essentially guaranteed.

It’s not that late—11 p.m.—when he finally slips back into his apartment. Yibo takes the quickest shower of his life and dives under the covers with his hair still clinging to the final few drops of water. Popping his earbuds in, he mutes notifications on his phone and clicks directly to EchoSpotlight’s profile.

The newest video, simply titled _Making Kimbap_ , is just a few hours old. Yibo gives a long, cleansing exhale and relaxes further into the pillow. It’s basically a Pavlovian response by now that as soon as he sees a simple and elegant logo of EchoSpotlight’s name fade across his phone screen, everything that stressed him out during the day dwindles to minuscule, unimportant.

“Hello. Today I thought I could try making tuna kimbap,” comes the softest voice in Yibo’s headphones.

All other distractions melt away, and Yibo has to focus only on Echo’s soothing tenor, the way his voice fills his skull like a cloud.

When Yibo used to dorm with four other guys, it was easy to find sleep while koala-ed up in bed with one boy or another. After moving out and on his own, though, Yibo had to settle for other methods. Leaving the TV on worked for a while, providing him the steady stream of low sounds he needed until he was lulled into sleep.

It took hearing his own voice in a commercial while on the precious cusp of wakefulness to ruin it completely.

The plus side of his growing fame: endless endorsements. The negative side: there wasn’t one channel out there that didn’t periodically spam him with a photoshopped mockup of his own face, promoting fried chicken or yogurt drinks or toothpaste.

He’d gotten used to queueing up videos of random things on his phone to drift off to when the next in the suggestion list was an ASMR video. Purely out of curiosity, Yibo clicked on it, and—well, fast-forward a few nights, his search history was saturated with gentle whispers and hand motions.

It took a few months of trial and error, diving into a bunch of subcategories of ASMR to see which kind really did the trick. The depth of the community surprised him, but then he figured ASMR was so popular thanks to its diversity. He can search up anything and find that at least one person has made a video on it. Once, jokingly, he looked up motorcycle ASMR and stumbled upon hundreds of videos. The sound of an engine humming, supple leather squeaking against itself, tinkering with parts, or even someone just talking about motorcycles with a low, measured voice, Yibo listened to so many of them. And they worked. Yibo also loved the methodical and meditative LEGO assembly videos. The slow clicks of pieces fitting together, coming at him in both ears, could easily knock him out.

“I’ve never made kimbap myself before,” says the faceless man in Yibo’s phone. “But I’ve eaten it plenty of times. So at least I’ll know from the end result if I made a mistake somewhere along the way.”

He punctuates the humor with a little laugh through his nose, and Yibo can’t help but smile sleepily in return, like he’s there in Echo’s kitchen, and they’re endeavoring to make kimbap together.

Echo never shows his face. His videos focus on idle tasks—towel folding, calligraphy, hair brushing, and mostly cooking—with the camera trained on his hands the entire time. The visual triggers work for some people, but Yibo honest-to-god believes this man could make a video with a blank screen and no sound but his voice, and he’d still clock out within minutes.

“I just learned the trick of dipping my fingers in water so the rice doesn’t stick to my hands.”

His tone is always soothing, oscillating between the blurred line of speaking and whispering. The way he talks too, like his intonations, sound intimate in a way Yibo can’t describe. As if Echo isn’t out there to please an audience; he’s just murmuring to himself, the rest of the world a nihility. But there’s also something distinctly interpersonal. Rather than the modest following Echo has built for himself over the past few months, he’s talking directly to Yibo. Each video Yibo watches feels like a meeting with someone who is an entire stranger to him, but also one he thinks he knows.

Maybe there’s a science behind it.

He gets to that sweet spot somewhere between the vegetables being cut and the seaweed sheets being layered one on top of the other. That spot, where he’s mostly asleep, but still conscious enough to register the sound of Echo’s voice. It’s a liminal place to be, and if only he could appreciate it for longer than the few blissful moments before he inevitably gets pulled under. Ah, but that would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?

The last thing Yibo remembers fully is the sound of crinkly nori wrappers being slowly rolled into a log. Echo has him asleep in no longer than eighteen minutes. Yibo slips into dreamland thinking the kimbap probably tasted really good.

* * *

Yibo doesn’t notice he’s doing it until he actually spends time fussing over the unkempt look of his kitchen. He only meant to tidy up a little before Xiao Zhan comes over, but one thing leads to another, and he’s cleaned his entire apartment and even organized a few of his drawers.

Just goes to show how few visitors he usually gets.

The cleaning distracts him so thoroughly that he almost panics when he checks the time. Forcing himself to leave the dumpster fire of mismatched tupperware containers as it is, Yibo jumps into the shower with a few minutes to spare. By the time Xiao Zhan texts him that he’s at the door, Yibo is recently dressed, skin still tingling from the heat of the water.

Yibo swings the door open in a rush and finds Xiao Zhan standing there in light-colored jeans, a pinstripe pale green button-up, and a plain white t-shirt peeking out from beneath the collar. Xiao Zhan smiles warmly at him, like nothing makes him happier than seeing Yibo, but that’s just how Xiao Zhan smiles. Yibo blames the flip in his stomach on hunger.

“Just in time. I’m starving.” Yibo grabs Xiao Zhan by the wrist, not caring that he’s trying to balance two bags of stuff on his forearm, and drags him inside.

Xiao Zhan stumbles when he toes his shoes off, laughing, and Yibo kicks a pair of slippers at him.

“Nice to see you too, Yibo.”

Yibo waves noncommittally over his shoulder as he heads for the kitchen. He spots an unfolded pile of clean laundry tucked into the corner of his couch. Fuck, he meant to put those away before Xiao Zhan came. At least his place is generally cleaner than the last time Xiao Zhan visited, which was… almost a year ago? Both their schedules have been so busy, and increasingly so, that they hardly have time to even check their WeChat.

The fact that they have the same day off, and in the same city, is impossible. A miracle, really. And Yibo knows all too well because he forced his manager to rearrange his schedule when he heard Xiao Zhan was going to be in Beijing for more than three hours. Well, Xiao Zhan doesn’t have to know that detail.

Xiao Zhan unloads the two paper bags onto Yibo’s counter, lining up random food ingredients. Yibo reaches for a bundle of green onion, but Xiao Zhan slaps his hand away.

“I know I’m here under the pretence of us cooking together, but I’m not letting you anywhere near this food until it’s actually cooked,” Xiao Zhan berates. It might be an open secret that Yibo destroys whatever food he touches, but Yibo thought Xiao Zhan would at least pretend not to know about it.

He thinks he should feel bad for inviting Xiao Zhan over just for him to do all the work, but the sentiment quickly passes in favor of getting a home-cooked meal for free. He can help in other areas, like staying well out of Xiao Zhan’s way. Or doing dishes after, or something.

Yibo throws his hands up in surrender as he scans over the groceries.

“What’s on the menu?”

Xiao Zhan balls up the emptied bags and smiles.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I brought over some staple ingredients for a whole bunch of things.”

“That’s a lot for one meal,” Yibo points out.

“You could keep the extras for yourself if you wanted to make yourself more meals.” Xiao Zhan shrugs. “Please follow a recipe, though.”

“Zhan-ge.” Yibo fake-pouts. “You didn’t have to buy me groceries.”

“Oh?” Xiao Zhan laughs and heads for Yibo’s fridge. Yibo’s stomach does another little flip. “And all this empty space is going to yield plenty of meals, right?”

He pulls the door open, and the white light inside illuminates tragically barren shelves. To his credit, it’s not completely empty. There are a few beer bottles, a mostly drained bottle of soy sauce, and a carton of eggs he’s pretty sure are unfit for human consumption at this point. He’s in luck, though, because he sees a half-dozen carton in Xiao Zhan’s pile.

“I’m not home often enough to buy myself groceries,” Yibo says in defense, which is mostly true. If he’s filming something in the mountains for a period drama, or in a studio that’s a flight and a half away, it could be weeks between his appearances at his own apartment. That, and even when he’s not filming something, whatever venue booked his presence for interviews or commercials or what-have-you will usually feed him. So really, it’s the world’s fault that he doesn’t know how to cook.

“What do you do when you _are_ at home?”

“Order in,” Yibo says with a shrug. A smirk pulls at his lips. “Hope Zhan-ge is around to make me something nice.”

Xiao Zhan rolls his eyes and shoves at him.

“Ulterior motives for wanting to hang out with me today, huh? And I thought you just missed me.”

“Both can be true at the same time,” Yibo says teasingly. He’s glad it comes out sounding like that and not how he wants to say it, which is _I really, really missed you_.

“Just tell me what you want to eat before I pack all this up and leave your stomach rumbling,” Xiao Zhan threatens.

Yibo hums and turns his gaze down to the options laid out on the counter. From the variety of vegetables, proteins, and pre-packaged sauces, he can’t write out a recipe in his head. Really, Xiao Zhan should know Yibo’s base instinct would be to chop everything up and throw it into a pan, seasoning it with probably too much vinegar. He eyes a box of nori sheets and licks his lips.

“How about kimbap?” he shoots in the dark.

Xiao Zhan’s eyes widen just a touch, and he looks down at the food he’s brought like he doesn’t think they’ll have everything they’d need.

“Uh…” he noises, mouth hanging open a bit. “Why specifically kimbap?”

Fuck, he’s right. That’s so specific. He can’t tell Xiao Zhan that he thought of it because of a recent ASMR video he’s watched, because then he’d have to explain that he watches ASMR in the first place. But that’s not weird, is it? Lots of people watch it. It’s just a matter of what Xiao Zhan’s existing opinion of ASMR is, if he has one at all. Yibo would rather not risk it.

“I used to have it a lot in Korea. I miss it.”

“Oh,” Xiao Zhan breathes, and it sounds like relief.

“Do you know how to make it?” Because for as many times as Yibo’s eaten it, he wouldn’t know the first step. Unless he pulls up EchoSpotlight’s video.

“Yeah,” Xiao Zhan says after a beat. He smiles. “It’s pretty simple actually.”

“Show me how it’s done.”

Yibo claps him once on the ass on his way to go stand well out of reach.

“Hey, go steam some rice,” Xiao Zhan says.

“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the food until it’s done?” Yibo argues, but he pulls the steamer from a cabinet under the counter anyway.

“You at least know how to steam rice without burning it, right?” Xiao Zhan says in mock exasperation. “I’m allowed to have at least a little faith in you, can’t I?”

Yibo pretends to think about it.

“Hmm, without burning it? I’m four out of five times successful on that one.”

Xiao Zhan groans, and Yibo laughs. But he sets up the steamer and adds the rice and water without issue. With his first and only responsibility already done, he leans on the counter and watches Xiao Zhan wash and cut vegetables.

He doesn’t know how Xiao Zhan does it. How he can look at a pile of ingredients and figure out how to make them taste good together. Yibo can probably follow a written recipe if it isn’t too complicated, but Xiao Zhan can just pull it out of his ass. He bounces back and forth between the counter and the sink like the motions are familiar to him.

“Do you have a sushi mat?”

The question pulls Yibo out of his streak of staring at Xiao Zhan’s hands. He just couldn’t help but notice that he holds a knife and slices vegetables like a professional.

“Uh, maybe.”

It takes a few minutes of rummaging, but Yibo finds a mat. He rinses off the dust that’s collected between the ribs from disuse, patting it dry with a towel.

“It might be a bit small for kimbap,” he says.

“That’s fine.” Xiao Zhan waves him over to where he’s set up an assembly station, ingredients prepped and sorted into neat little piles. That’s the designer in him, always making everything he does look perfect. “Come here.”

Xiao Zhan takes the sushi mat from Yibo and lays it flat on the counter. He gestures for Yibo to stand with him and points to the nori.

“We can start with two sheets to prevent it from ripping,” he says. Yibo looks at him.

“You want me to help roll the kimbap? I thought you didn’t trust me.”

“The worst you can do is let it fall apart,” Xiao Zhan says with a light laugh. “And we’d have kimbap salad.”

Yibo conceals a smile and follows Xiao Zhan’s instructions. When he lays out the two sheets of nori, Xiao Zhan reaches across him to straighten them out, bumping their fingers together in the process and—oh, fuck, Yibo is blushing. Huh.

In retrospect, it’s crazy it’s taken him this long to realize it. Sure, Yibo suspected his feelings toward Xiao Zhan were more than friendly when they were filming together. But he blamed it on character bleed and long hours working together and seeing each other’s faces for four months straight. And how Xiao Zhan was always patient with him even though he complained about Yibo’s energy all the time. How Xiao Zhan is so gentle in everything he does, even in play fighting. How Xiao Zhan looks at him like he’s thinking fond things despite whatever gremlin thing Yibo says or does in the moment.

But that all happened over a year ago. Filming and the show’s release and promotions have all died down. They’ve been working on so many other projects, gaining fans and fame for reasons other than _The Untamed_. Yibo’s feelings have had their breathing room, and they’ve calmed. But maybe not as much as he thought.

With a tight swallow, Yibo tries hard not to feel the way Xiao Zhan’s chest brushes against his shoulder as he leans close to fix whatever’s wrong with the nori wrappers.

“Go ahead and spread some rice in a thin layer.”

Xiao Zhan says it in such a quiet voice, and it resonates right in Yibo’s ear. His whole body tingles from the voice alone, ricocheting down his body from head to toe in one shuddering wave. Why does that feel so familiar?

Not saying anything, Yibo scoops a helping of rice onto the nori. He tries to spread it around with the back of the paddle, but gives up early on to use his fingers instead. It’s almost impossible with the still-steaming rice sticking to his fingers like puddy.

Yibo misses the warmth next to him when Xiao Zhan chuckles and goes to fill a cup with tap water. When he comes back, it’s at a safe distance, and he places the cup next to the mat.

“I’ve learned the trick is to dip your fingers in water so the rice doesn’t stick.”

Yibo stills his hands when it suddenly makes sense. He stares at Xiao Zhan’s hands again, but this time with purpose. He can almost picture them floating around a page while idly drawing, or softly combing and trimming hair with a silver pair of scissors.

Now that he’s noticed, the resemblance of Xiao Zhan’s hands and voice is almost uncanny. Why did it take him so long to recognize the person who has pampered him to sleep nearly every night for several weeks now?

“Go rinse off,” Xiao Zhan jokes lightly, unaware of the gears working in Yibo’s head as they speak. He knocks his hip into Yibo’s to gently nudge him away, then dips his own fingers in the water to smooth out the layer of rice to his liking.

Still processing, Yibo washes his hands. By the time he returns to the counter, Xiao Zhan has already scooped out the crab meat and is lining stalks of vegetables into the mix.

He won’t ask Xiao Zhan about it, at least not until he can confirm it himself.

So for the time being, he puts it on the back burner (a cooking reference, see? He’s not completely useless in the kitchen) and tries his hardest to roll the kimbap without breaking it. The end result is a little lumpy, and maybe a little overstuffed, but Xiao Zhan slices even discs and lays them out on a plate.

They spend the rest of the day snacking, and Yibo hands Xiao Zhan’s ass back to him in every video game they compete in, until Xiao Zhan’s phone pings with his reminder of a flight he needs to pack for.

* * *

It isn’t much later that Yibo is getting ready for bed. He has an early start tomorrow, and he likes to have enough sleep when he can get it.

Xiao Zhan helped him put away the leftovers and extra groceries. His fridge is fuller now, minus the couple of beers they split between themselves, and he definitely doesn’t think about how the food in his kitchen is a physical representation of how much Xiao Zhan cares about him. He’s just a considerate person. That’s all.

Yibo slides into bed after cleaning himself up and plucks his earbuds from the nightstand. He goes right for EchoSpotlight’s page with the singular mission to prove that he and Xiao Zhan are _not_ the same person.

Echo only posts maybe once or twice every few weeks. It’s unusual compared to other ASMRtists, who post as often as possible, especially if ad revenue is their only source of income and making videos is their full-time job. If Xiao Zhan makes videos, he wouldn’t be able to post as often, so, fuck, that’s already one peice of evidence in his favor. He hasn’t uploaded a new one since the kimbap video, which is almost a week old by now. Yibo scrolls through his videos, chewing on his lip.

He picks one of his all-time favorites, in which Echo simply copies out a lengthy poem in calligraphy while softly reading it aloud. He’s said it before and he stands by it, but the voice is really the only thing he needs to fall asleep.

So Yibo settles in, laying half on his side, half on his stomach, and listens to the soft rustling of parchment sheets. Echo smooths his hands over the pages, and yeah, those are Xiao Zhan’s hands. Yibo would know them anywhere. When Echo speaks, it’s with Xiao Zhan’s voice, and something peaceful floods Yibo’s senses.

Yibo has seen this video so many times—he’s sure he’s responsible for at least a third of the view count—but it feels like this is the first he’s watching it all over again. He knows how the poem goes. It’s a story about ancient lovers kept apart by their warring villages, and _of course_ Xiao Zhan would pick this one. That’s so very Wangxian of him. Xiao Zhan never does anything without putting a meaning behind it.

Yibo would normally be halfway to unconsciousness by now, but he feels awake with something stirring in his chest. Where he would usually close his eyes and just listen, Yibo can’t take his gaze off Xiao Zhan’s fingers gripping the brush so elegantly. Xiao Zhan has really nice fingers.

And, normally, Yibo’s mind goes blank when listening to ASMR. It’s what helps him fall asleep, being able to focus on someone else’s voice in order to ignore his own thoughts and relax. But there are so many thoughts in his mind right now. Too many.

Yibo thinks about Xiao Zhan using those gentle fingers on him, playing with his hair like he does with a mannequin head sometimes. Or coaxing him to bed with that impossibly soothing voice of his, saying all kinds of things to get Yibo to settle down, to ease his muscles, to open up—

With a soft groan, Yibo rolls his hips down into the bed. God, he’s somehow half hard just from thoughts of Xiao Zhan giving him personal attention like he does in these videos. For a few noble minutes, Yibo tries to ignore it. He focuses on the lines of the poem, but that quickly devolves into just listening to the sound of Xiao Zhan’s voice.

What even got him into making videos in the first place? Does he also listen to ASMR, and then one day just decided to start doing his own? It takes a special kind of skill to elicit such comfort and relaxation through a screen. Yibo always knew Xiao Zhan was an attentive person, but his ability to send shivers down Yibo’s body with nothing but a camera and some microphones does little to quell the arousal that’s now completely hard and pressed to the mattress.

Giving in, Yibo shoves a hand down so he can thrust against his palm. He keeps his eyes trained on the screen, on Xiao Zhan’s pretty hands, even though the pleasure is willing him to lower his eyelids. He pants into his pillow. He can almost feel Xiao Zhan’s fingers running up and down his back, tracing beautiful calligraphy like his skin is a blank canvas. What if Xiao Zhan wasn’t reciting a poem, and instead saying other things directly into Yibo’s ear? Shuddering, Yibo fills in the blanks.

_You’re so good. I want you to feel good. Let me help you feel good. That’s it… Trust me. You can let go, and I’ll catch you. Good boy…_

Yibo buries his face into the pillow in an effort to remain quiet, but for what? He’s alone in his apartment. He can be as loud as he wants. But the Xiao Zhan in his imagination wants him to be good and, damn it, Yibo is quickly realizing how badly he wants Xiao Zhan. Wants his attention, wants his approval, his praise.

He doesn’t last, not with his long and languid thrusts down into his own hand. For the final few seconds, Yibo squeezes his eyes shut and conjures Xiao Zhan’s face in his head. The expression he sees is soft, affectionate, looking at Yibo like he’s proud, like he loves him.

When Yibo comes, soaking his sheets and his fingers, it’s to the realization that he’s seen that expression before.

* * *

Weeks later, Yibo gets to see Xiao Zhan again. It would have been longer than that had Yibo not pestered Xiao Zhan about staying in Beijing one extra day before flying back to set ( _if Zhan-ge was really my friend, he’d put in the effort to see me :(_ ).

Xiao Zhan agreed, but only if Yibo would spend some time helping Xiao Zhan run lines for said drama he needed to get back to the next day. So they spent a good chunk of the day on Xiao Zhan’s couch, Yibo sprawled out like he owns the place, and bounced between scenes that didn’t make much sense in Yibo’s lack of context.

They order takeout for dinner because the time gets away from them. Yibo offers to clean the dishes they use when they’re done eating, and when he’s in Xiao Zhan’s kitchen, he confirms everything he needs to know.

It’s the same kitchen as seen in EchoSpotlight’s videos. Well, there isn’t usually much to be shown, with the camera zoomed in close to his hands and everything. But the countertop is the same, as is the dark gray silicone cutting mat tucked away in a corner from, what Yibo assumes is, his most recent cooking video.

“How do you feel about ASMR?” Yibo dives in head first, hands busy drying off the bowls he just washed.

Xiao Zhan, in the middle of gathering up their trash, looks up at him with pause. But then he resumes his task casually.

“Oh, I think it’s nice,” he says. “Good way to meditate, if you’re into that.”

“I’m into it.”

Xiao Zhan laughs at that, walking into the kitchen to throw out their empty boxes. He takes the dried dishes and starts putting them away as Yibo hands them off.

“Have you started listening to it or something?”

“I’ve been listening to it, actually,” Yibo admits. “It works better than leaving the TV on.”

Xiao Zhan leans next to him on the counter and smiles.

“I’m glad you’ve found it, then. I believe it’s good for you.”

Yibo wipes his hands down the front of his pants. He wonders if he should pry a little more, try to get Xiao Zhan to tell him about the videos he makes. Or if he should just tell Xiao Zhan that he already knows. Would Xiao Zhan prefer it to be left a secret? He hasn’t yet made an effort to tell Yibo about his new hobby, but it also seems like the kind of inconsequential thing he probably wouldn’t want to bother Yibo with. They hardly get to talk as much as they used to, and in-person visits are even more rare. _Hey, I know we don’t keep up with each other as often as we like, but I started this new anonymous ASMR campaign that I need you to know I’m doing, even though I don’t know if you like ASMR or not_.

If Yibo confesses he watches Xiao Zhan’s videos religiously, then there’s nothing stopping him from confessing an entirely different thing in the same breath, and, well.

He decides to go for it because, in the end, regarding Xiao Zhan, he has nothing to be afraid of.

“Do you listen to it?” Yibo asks.

Xiao Zhan does a noncommittal shrug.

“Sometimes I do, though it’s hard for me to find ones I really like.” He shakes his head at himself, smiling. “I guess I’m too picky.”

“Zhan-ge’s artistic eye is getting in the way, huh?” Yibo teases. “Is that why you prefer to make your own rather than listening to someone else’s?”

Xiao Zhan falters for a minute, and his smile turns into a mix of surprise and shyness. He scrubs his face with a hand, and Yibo stares at him until they both start giggling.

“How did you know about that?” Xiao Zhan asks in exasperation when his laughter subsides, cheeks a little pink. “Ah, I probably shouldn’t be surprised you found out. I just didn’t think you liked ASMR.”

“I figured out it was you when we made kimbap together. I knew it then because I’ve watched all your videos, and seeing you make the kimbap was too familiar to not notice.”

Xiao Zhan eyes widen.

“You watch _all_ my videos?”

“They’re good, Zhan-ge. You’re my favorite.”

“Oh…” Xiao Zhan looks down at the space between them, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Yibo turns to rest both elbows on the counter, tilting his head back to glance sidelong at Xiao Zhan, and wears his own smile in response.

“It’s your voice that really does it for me. I’ve even gotten off to it before,” Yibo says because even though he’s ahead, that doesn’t mean he wants to quit.

“Oh,” Xiao Zhan repeats, much lower this time. But then he breathes a laugh through his nose and shakes his head. “That’s not what ASMR is supposed to do for you, you know.”

“It’s what you do for me,” Yibo answers softly, too honest to make it a joke.

He catches the way Xiao Zhan’s hands fidget on the counter, the way he bites his lips into his mouth. He looks at Yibo, looks him up and down, looks like he wants to say something. Yibo mentally braces.

“How do you feel…” Xiao Zhan pauses to swallow, giving Yibo’s stomach plenty of time to fold into itself. “How do you feel about an in-person ASMR session?”

Yibo blinks.

“That’s a thing?”

“Of course it’s a thing,” Xiao Zhan says and knocks their shoulders together like always. “It’s like when people go get massages. Only this time, it’s to relax more than just your muscles.”

“Ooh, a brain massage. I like videos like that.”

Xiao Zhan tilts his head toward the bedroom, an invitation.

“What do you say?”

Yibo is already grabbing Xiao Zhan’s wrist and pulling him away before he answers.

“Like I’m going to turn down a free session from internet sensation EchoSpotlight.”

Xiao Zhan giggles, and Yibo feels his own laughter bubbling in his chest. He hauls Xiao Zhan all the way to the bedroom. When instructed to, Yibo lays down on the bed, but with his head toward the base, and his legs pointing toward the pillows. He watches, upside down, as Xiao Zhan dims the lights.

It feels fun to Yibo, like this is no different from all the other times they’ve hung out. He feels giddy in the same way he used to get when sleeping over at a friend’s house. It’s the anticipation of everything they’ll get to do together that’s the best part.

“Have you ever done this for someone before?” Yibo asks.

“You’re the only person who even knows I do this.” Xiao Zhan shakes his head, coming to stand over Yibo at the foot of the bed.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Xiao Zhan presses his hands into the mattress and leans down. His hair hangs off his forehead, framing his face as gravity pulls it down. Yibo wants him to close the gap and kiss him.

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Ouch.” Yibo fakes a wince. Xiao Zhan laughs above him.

“I just mean that I thought you’d think it’s lame. A lot of people find ASMR weird, if they even know about it in the first place.”

“I’m just full of surprises like that. Subverting Zhan-ge’s expectations at every turn.” He smirks.

“That, you do,” Xiao Zhan breathes. He takes his weight off his hands in favor of threading his fingers through Yibo’s hair, brushing it clear of his face. “So. What kinds of things are you into?”

Yibo gets his ear tugged in retaliation for the suggestive face he makes at Xiao Zhan’s comment, but it’s worth it.

“I’m not that picky. Anything you do works on me,” Yibo answers. “Just don’t stop talking to me.”

“Mm,” Xiao Zhan hums, and Yibo recognizes the lilt in it. It’s softer and more drawn out, fizzling out at the end as it sinks into Yibo’s ears. The kind of voice Xiao Zhan uses for his videos. “Can I touch you?”

Yibo meets his gaze for a moment, searching in the warm brown of Xiao Zhan’s eyes. This is a treat, he thinks, because Xiao Zhan never shows his face in his videos. Yibo gets to have all of him there, all to himself, feel his hands on his skin and hear his voice in his ears that doesn’t come through a set of headphones.

Nodding, Yibo slips his eyes closed.

“Anywhere off limits?”

“You’d be looking all night before you found anywhere,” Yibo says, the corner of his lips tugging up.

“Just making sure.”

The hands come back to his hair, close to his temple, and Yibo hears Xiao Zhan sigh out slowly. Fingertips trace delicately over Yibo’s hairline, just shy of tickling, and goosebumps threaten to pebble his skin already.

“I’m not sure what to talk about,” Xiao Zhan confesses, but it’s with his performing voice, quiet and low to ensure optimal relaxation for his listener. “In my videos, I try to keep it impersonal. But I don’t want to do that with you.”

Yibo sinks into the bed under the warm and welcome weight of Xiao Zhan’s voice. He swallows against his first instinct, which is to ask Xiao Zhan to praise him, to comfort him. As much as he wants to hear _You’re so good_ and _I’m going to take care of you_ , he thinks it might be a little forward, even for him.

“Just tell me how you got started doing all this in the first place.” Yibo’s voice is gravelly when he answers, unconsciously mimicking the atmosphere Xiao Zhan has set.

Xiao Zhan hums again, mulling, as his fingers continue to trace random and lazy swirls over Yibo’s jaw and neck. His nails drag gently behind his ears, and like a puppy, Yibo almost lifts his chin to get closer to the touch.

“I think for the same reason you started listening to it,” Xiao Zhan says, and Yibo doesn’t have to answer for him to know he’s right. “Sometimes it feels like life is running at me, and racing against me at the same time. I’m always so focused on keeping up that I never really have attention for anything else. You notice it. How I can hardly maintain a text conversation anymore.”

The caress reaches down Yibo’s neck, brushing over his collarbones and back up. An ebb and flow gradually changing direction in increments. Xiao Zhan’s fingers pause a few times to knead gently into the muscle at the sides of Yibo’s neck. And if that isn’t perfect enough, the next time Xiao Zhan speaks, he’s even closer to Yibo’s ear.

“So I found a hobby that forces me to slow down, to stop running. I have to be in the moment when I make videos, and I think it’s been good for me. Sometimes I get something out of it other than just a few minutes of peace. Like a meal or a hand-written poem, even though I don’t think my script is as nice as some people say it is.”

When Xiao Zhan breathes out a light little laugh, the air rushes over Yibo’s ear. He shivers before he can stop himself from doing it, and goosebumps erupt on his skin. Xiao Zhan isn’t even saying anything overly calming—basically having a one-sided conversation about something they’d be talking about on a normal day—but Yibo’s body reacts to his voice like flipping a switch and closing the circuit.

“Your handwriting is nice,” Yibo tries, and wow, his throat feels thick when he talks. He must sound sleep-drunk and hilarious to Xiao Zhan, because he laughs again, breath tickling Yibo’s other ear.

His fingers tease at the collar of Yibo’s t-shirt, and he reaches under it to lightly scrape his nails over the top of his chest before disappearing again. Xiao Zhan changes up the direction, sliding his hands over Yibo’s shoulders and down his arms.

“I’m glad this is working for you. I wasn’t sure if I’d have the same effect standing over you.”

Yibo hums in response, not trusting his voice to not come out stupidly slurred again. He hopes Xiao Zhan gets what he means, which, precisely, is _You’re perfect, just like every other day_.

Xiao Zhan presses his fingers into Yibo’s arms on the slow drag back up. His hands go for his hair again, nails scratching at his scalp and pulling a low sound from Yibo’s throat. He feels his eyelids flutter from the sensation that washes over him.

Yibo has never been one to try and explain with words what listening to ASMR feels like, but if he has to come up with something, “a thousand tiny spiritual orgasms at once” is the closest he can get.

Xiao Zhan’s hands migrate down the side of Yibo’s face again, thumbs brushing rhythmically over his cheeks and jaw. He’d jokingly called it a brain massage earlier, but that’s also pretty close to what it feels like. The sensitivity of Xiao Zhan’s hands enveloping him, his voice filling up the spaces between synapses, it makes him feel secure.

He doesn’t notice the little caresses slowing down until they stop completely. With his eyes still closed, Yibo can’t see Xiao Zhan’s face, but he can feel him shift. Both hands hold the sides of his face still as a pair of soft lips come to settle gently on top of his own.

Yibo takes in the slightest breath through his nose in surprise, but as soon as the realization dawns on him, he seizes the moment. Kissing back, Yibo presses against a full bottom lip, wanting to open his mouth and sink his teeth into it.

Before he has the chance, Xiao Zhan pulls back up. Yibo’s eyes open, and he sees Xiao Zhan’s smiling face hanging like the moon above him, upside down, back to stroking his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“Don’t hurt my feelings with an apology, ge,” Yibo teases. He has more control over his voice this time.

He reaches up and wraps one hand around the back of Xiao Zhan’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss. He catches Xiao Zhan’s grin softening before he leans in the rest of the way. The upside-down kiss is exhilarating as they try to find a good way to slot their mouths together. Yibo angles one way and then the other before giving up and biting down on Xiao Zhan’s top lip.

Xiao Zhan giggles in response, then uses his grip on Yibo to reposition both of their heads for a more comfortable fit. Yibo wants to get closer, but he can’t, not in this position, so he makes his thoughts evident with a petulant whine.

“Come here,” he mutters against Xiao Zhan’s mouth.

Obliging, Xiao Zhan separates from him, moves to lay on the bed next to Yibo. Before allowing him time to get comfortable, Yibo pulls him back in. It’s only their third kiss in all of history, and he’s already unwilling to part from him for longer than he has to.

Xiao Zhan settles on his side, pressed up against the length of Yibo’s body, and works an arm behind his shoulders to bring him close. Yibo clutches at the front of Xiao Zhan’s shirt, manifesting a way for them to somehow get even closer. The next time he whines—because Xiao Zhan’s tongue slides easily into his mouth—it’s very much an accident.

“Shh…” Xiao Zhan whispers against his lips. His free hand strokes at Yibo’s hair, scratching here and there, but it’s still nothing short of actual petting. “I’ve got you.”

Oh. Oh. They’re still doing the ASMR thing, if the dip in Xiao Zhan’s voice is any indication.

Yibo tries not to preen at his tone, his words, but Xiao Zhan catches on anyway and presses sweet kisses to his chin and jaw.

“Let me do everything, okay?” Xiao Zhan angles back up, mouthing over Yibo’s ear so his voice goes right to his brain. Among other places. “Just let me take care of you.”

Yibo shudders at that, and doesn’t even try to hide it. Nodding, he wills himself to relax in Xiao Zhan’s arms. So when Xiao Zhan brushes his lips down his throat, Yibo tilts his head back and lets the sensation surround him.

“Good…” Xiao Zhan murmurs as his hand slides down Yibo’s chest, slow and deliberate and casual all at the same time.

“Ah, Xiao Zhan,” Yibo whispers back, almost as a warning. But for what? _If you keep that up, it’s gonna be your fault when I jump you_.

Xiao Zhan keeps going in spite of the precieved threat, dipping his hand under Yibo’s shirt and palming at him with slow circles. Yibo’s first reaction is to tense up, but puts his trust in Xiao Zhan’s words and tells his shoulders to relax.

Somehow, submitting to the touches and kisses and whispered words makes him so much more sensitive. Yibo lets out a low moan, and Xiao Zhan is there to swallow it.

He pulls back a moment later to see Yibo’s face, wearing an expression so tender and sure that it sends a fresh wave of tingles zipping down Yibo’s entire being. Xiao Zhan takes a glance down, where Yibo’s tenting shorts hide nothing at all, and smiles a little.

“You said earlier that nowhere is off limits, right?” Xiao Zhan asks, and Yibo’s whole world lights up.

“I meant it,” Yibo assures, no shame whatsoever at the state he’s in from just a few minutes of making out.

Xiao Zhan doesn’t seem to mind it either, not when he’s coming back in for another kiss and sneaking his hand out from under Yibo’s shirt. It goes, instead, to the front of his shorts. This time, Yibo can’t keep his muscles from tensing as he arches into the touch, relaxation gone and out the window.

Just like with everything else, Xiao Zhan’s hand remains slow and steady as he palms at Yibo. His fingers find the outline of him and spread around it, and the up and down drag of Yibo’s clothes makes his whole body go rigid.

It seems Xiao Zhan is also forgoing relaxation when he breaks the kiss to whisper, “Turn over,” against Yibo’s jaw.

Yibo drops his head back to look at him, staring into his eyes. He gets a little caught up in how unreal it feels to suddenly be able to touch Xiao Zhan like this, to have Xiao Zhan look at him like _that_.

Xiao Zhan must take Yibo’s silence for hesitation, because he moves his hand from his shorts to cup his face.

“Trust me?”

“Yes, I’m just,” Yibo breathes out, then lifts his head to peck him on the mouth because that’s something he can do now. “Just getting another look.”

“Lay on your side. You can still look at me,” Xiao Zhan says.

He helps Yibo roll to the side, one hand cupping his thigh to have him face away from Xiao Zhan. His chest comes to press against Yibo’s back, and he props himself up on one elbow.

“Okay like this? You can still see me.”

Yibo twists his neck to see Xiao Zhan smiling at him, and he returns it with his own grin.

“I want to kiss you too,” he says.

Xiao Zhan shakes his head in that kind of fond exasperation that Yibo loves to see. But his whining works, because Xiao Zhan does kiss him again, and then some.

Yibo pushes back against him when he feels a hand skirt down his front, then slip between their bodies. With the tight fit, Xiao Zhan struggles a bit to get a hold on Yibo’s waistband, but when he does, he tugs Yibo’s shorts and underwear down to his thighs.

The next time Yibo rolls back to try and get close, he feels how much Xiao Zhan is enjoying it. So he’s not alone.

“Zhan-ge…” Yibo gasps. Xiao Zhan has a hand on his hip, keeping him steady as he rocks forward. And Yibo feels it—ohh, he feels that Xiao Zhan has gotten his own pants out of the way, pushed down just enough to press against Yibo, skin to skin.

He’s hot and hard, and Yibo thinks he feels a bit of moisture against the base of his spine where Xiao Zhan rubs himself. It’s so good just like this, something out of his most recent fantasy with Xiao Zhan right there at his ear, nibbling like he needs to taste. Yibo thinks he could come like this. He kind of wants to.

The hand on his hip moves to wiggle between them again. Yibo feels Xiao Zhan’s fingers fumbling near his ass, and he has no idea what Xiao Zhan is trying to do until there’s an absolutely hot and filthy grind between his cheeks. Yibo gasps and jerks his hips back, needing to feel more of Xiao Zhan rubbing against him. He hears a soft grunt from behind when he does it a second time.

“Your body…” Xiao Zhan whipsers, almost in awe. He rocks forward to meet Yibo’s next thrust, one hand tracing a long line from Yibo’s leg up to his throat. Xiao Zhan pays particular attention to Yibo’s chest and stomach, fingers splaying over his abs. “Never thought I’d be able to feel it like this.”

“Feel more, Zhan-ge.” Yibo means it to come out as an invitation, but the clipped neediness in his voice makes it sound more like a demand. Or a plea.

Xiao Zhan groans lightly and retracts his hand to reach between their bodies. Yibo feels him grip himself and drag wetness further down Yibo’s ass. For one brief, blissful moment, Xiao Zhan rubs against Yibo’s entrance, pulling a truly whorish moan from him. Yibo shocks himself with raging thoughts of _Do it, just put it in, I can take it, I'll take it all if you just fuck me_. But the touch moves away too quickly, angling further down still. Yibo wants to beg Xiao Zhan to do it again—do it until he comes—but there’s an insistent press against the backs of his thighs.

“Keep your legs together,” Xiao Zhan says, and, wow, Yibo kind of really likes him giving orders. He’s learning so much about himself—both of them, actually—tonight.

Unable to verbalize a response, Yibo just obeys and squeezes his thighs tightly as Xiao Zhan manages to push himself between them, nestled right in there toward the top, warming Yibo from the inside out.

“Fuck,” Yibo articulates, and Xiao Zhan hums his agreement.

There are lips on the soft skin directly under Yibo’s ear, teeth nibbling but not marking. Xiao Zhan rocks into him, and the slide between his legs is sticky and chafing but also really hot. He can hear how good it feels for Xiao Zhan by the barely suppressed groans escaping his throat. Yibo meets the thrusts as steadily as he can, which doesn’t start out great and gets sloppier from there. When Xiao Zhan’s hand wraps around him, Yibo nearly shouts.

Instead, he turns to press his mouth to Xiao Zhan’s and try to muffle most of his sounds. Xiao Zhan’s movements are slow and purposeful without seeming so. Usually, in his videos, it worked to calm Yibo down. Now, though, it’s driving him crazy and dangerously close to the edge. Yibo feels himself leaking at the thought of Xiao Zhan fucking him just like this. He regrets they probably won’t get to that tonight because he’s so close—so fucking close.

He bites Xiao Zhan’s lip to tell him as much, then runs his tongue over the reddened area. Xiao Zhan moans, and it sounds like he’s not far off either.

Yibo is thinking, particularly, about Xiao Zhan’s gruff voice in his ear when he finally comes. And yeah, ASMR might sometimes feel like a thousand tiny spiritual orgasms, but a real, physical orgasm can’t be beat. Xiao Zhan wrings it out of him, and in the haze of climax, Yibo tightens the space between his thighs. With a gasp and a rush of air against his sweaty neck, Xiao Zhan finds his own climax too.

Yibo’s legs ache a little bit when Xiao Zhan pulls away from him, but it feels good, and he would definitely do that again. It’s worth how gross he feels, and he pulls up his underwear and shorts to get the mess at least out of sight for a bit. Xiao Zhan will let him use his shower, and if he’s persistent, Yibo can probably bully Xiao Zhan into joining him.

He turns around in time to see Xiao Zhan tucking himself back into his pants. Yibo licks his lips, feeling like he missed out. But there’s always next time.

“When you said you had gotten off to one of my videos before,” Xiao Zhan starts. Yibo can’t stand how cute the color in his cheeks is. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I don’t think I can watch your videos anymore,” Yibo says, throwing an arm over Xiao Zhan and burying his face in his neck.

“Oh?”

“They won’t put me to sleep if they remind me of ASMR sex from now on,” he explains, muffled by Xiao Zhan’s shirt. He smells good, something Yibo had forgotten in the few and far times they’ve been able to hang out recently.

Xiao Zhan laughs, and one of his hands buries in the hair at the back of Yibo’s head, combing lazily.

“But I’m still your number one fan,” Yibo says. “For ASMR and everything.”

“Wow,” Xiao Zhan noises in amusement. “Sex makes you sappy.”

“I’m always sappy. You just haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” Xiao Zhan promises into his hair, then peels Yibo far enough off of him to plant a kiss on his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/shamu_who)! i can promise i'm friendly, but i can't promise i'll post about consistent things


End file.
